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Icicle!

Easter has come and gone. It was quiet. Joyous, if I didn’t look at social media. The fam was together, which is everything. The rain was inconsequential. The from scratch lemon meringue pie was the bestest in pie. And I don’t mind saying the scalloped potatoes were swoon-worthy. Burrrrrp!

Excuse me.

In Other News ~

The back and side gardens have had their spring cleanup. Frontscape still needs doin’. That’s what I’ve been doing. That and observing statutory holidays. Rake, rake, rake. Hands and knee work. Green things are sprouting everywhere. Maybe even between my ears.

Definitely between my ears.

I grow Veronica (speedwell) in my frontscape. It’s white and delicate and breezy. There’s a pic of it right at the top of this post. It’s called Icicle. But, but, but… doesn’t Veronica Speedwell sound like she should be a comic strip character? A rom-com heroine?

We finished all episodes of Our Planet on Netflix and will be watching it again. There is just so much there to take in.

True Confessions ~

Ever watched any of the romantic comedies from the sixties? I’ve been binge-renting them as an antidote to the barrage of crisis news worldwide that pervades the internet. Sometimes, I could just lay my head on my desk and weep or scream or both.

Hence, the binge-renting of early sixties rom-coms. Do they have zee political correctness for 2019? Nope. Do I care? Nope. What they have are fun sets, sixties fashion (which I love), happy musical scores, good comedic timing. They aren’t edgy. They aren’t dark. They aren’t riddled with adolescent bathroom humor.

They aren’t anything I normally watch for thrills and chills or because I love subtitles. Not sci-fi. Not action thrillers. Not drama with a capital D.

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Disclaimer: I would rather recite the Times Tables to 12 backwards, do an hour of Hot Yoga in a ventless room with a gassy camel, or have the window seat next to a Blutbad flying on Air Force One than write a BIO.